October 6th.
It’s coming.
10 days.
10 days seems like a flash. I wish I could just gloss over it. Don’t think about it. Don’t acknowledge it. Don’t remember it.
Unfortunately, it combines with my father’s birthday. Isn’t that fantastic?
I remember he was in Las Vegas when it happened. Of course, that afforded me the opportunity to stay at his house.
Away from people.
Away from Army; furious I hadn’t told him what hospital I was at. Suddenly he cares? Out of nowhere he actually gives a shit? No. You do not get to magically start giving a shit about something so precious. Especially when it’s being lost.
I’m being unfair. He’s being so wonderful lately. Trying so hard. Making me smile.
But back then…
That horrible day.
6 hours in the hospital. A box of pills intended for a new arthritis treatment because my body doesn’t know how to just let things go.
Over a week of excruciating pain due to those pills. Barely get out of bed pain.
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The night I get back from the hospital, I dig out the cans of 4 Loko I’ve hidden under my childhood bed and find frozen fruit in Dad’s freezer.
His blender is a nice one and chops the ice perfectly. Dad doesn’t buy milk or juice, so I use only the 4 Loko as the liquid for the smoothie.
It is strong.
My texts to Army become so bad that he calls me. I slur. He changes from angry to extreme concern. I let slip that I’m alone at Dad’s. He says he’ll be there in 20.
I fail to mention the messages I’ve been exchanging with Katherine. Because I am still an idiot at this point. My fractured self desperately clings to the past.
And her father saw me in the ER, so of course she is curious. She is concerned.
She sees the fracture, the pain, the scars. She claws them open further with her sharp nails.
And I let her. I relish in the tearing flesh, the prickling heat of blood, the teeth, the tears. I offer myself up and beg for more. It’s a dance we’re both familiar with. The steps are well-worn, not forgotten at all.
Until Army shows up.
He fumbles with being the white knight. It isn’t a role he does, except with guns and medicine. But I am not in physical danger. For now.
He checks my vitals anyway. My blood oxygen is low. He is angry I want to be alone, despite the doctors expressly forbidding otherwise.
He’s found my discharge paperwork from the hospital. Not that I hid it.
He takes the smoothie, tastes it, and glares. I laugh. His eyes go from irritated to anxious so quickly. I idly wonder how I can affect him like this now; when for months he’s been like a robot.
He says he will be taking me home with him. Tonight. Whether I walk or am carried to his car is up to me.
I reach for the smoothie. He goes to the kitchen and dumps it down the garbage disposal. I sigh. I cannot summon anger. I was so angry just 24 hours ago. I was blaming him for all my discomfort, my depression, my lack of friends.
But now. Now I’m just tired. I just want to sleep. Forever.
Distantly, I hear Army talk about me needing to eat. I chuckle at this. I will never eat again. I couldn’t manage to keep a small, flickering life lit inside me. Why the hell would I bother with myself? It’s all pointless anyway. The doctors say there is a good chance I am broken now.
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If my body would just learn to let things go.
Just let it go. Please. That’s all I want right now. I just want to stop dwelling.
I want to not hear the ghostly whispers of Audrey begging for suicide. Screaming our faults. Trying to tear at the scars.
I just want to lie down and wake up to October 10th. Or Halloween.
Can we just skip it all?
Let it go.
pen, paper, and crazy 